Page 95 of Forest of Dreams and Whispers
Juliana kicked his chair. ”Youdidn’t curse anyone.”
“Why are you kicking my chair?”
“It’s how I show affection,” she said, without thinking, and then, “or I think you’re being an idiot. Or I’m just aggressive and like hurting you.”
Hawthorn stared at her for a long, steady moment, his eyes flickering in the candlelight, beautiful, luminous. “I don’tthinkyou like hurting me,” he said. “I don’t think you like hurting anyone.”
“Well, you’re wrong about that, because sometimes, in the heat of battle or when someone is really,reallypissing me off, I do like hurting them.” She hesitated. “But not you,” she added. “Not for a long while.”
Something shifted in Hawthorn’s gaze. “So youdolike me.”
“I mean, I also think you’re an idiot, but—”
“Jules,” he said, in that soft, silky way that always made her want to concede, “please.”
Tell him you don’t hate him as much as you used to,a voice told her. But what came out, in the same, soft voice as his, was, “Yes. I like you.”
“How much?” he asked, his smirk wicked.
“More than a hole in the head, less than I love that which I love the most, and as much as you deserve.”
He chuckled. “A true faerie answer.”
“Drink.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
For the next hour or so, as the moon waned, they traded questions. Jules dealt lies and truths, some outrageous, some silly, some personal. All designed with the purpose to keep him entertained, to keep his mind occupied.
And hers, too.
From time to time, she became conscious of the night propelling onwards, getting later and later, heralding the morning. She wished it was a monster, a tangible thing she could fight.
But she couldn’t.
So she drank instead. Tiny, careful sips. Enough to take the edge off but keep her wits about her, enough to ensure Hawthorn drank plenty but didn’t think he was drinking alone.
“All right,” she declared, “next round. Number one—I didn’t put the frog in your bed last Midwinter. Number two—I didn’t let you win when we practised sparring last summer. And three… of all the things I’ll miss, whatever tomorrow brings... I’ll miss your smile most.”
For a moment, she swore the ghost of a blush rose in Hawthorn’s cheeks, but as quickly as it came, it vanished.
“But those all sound true…” he mused, stroking a long-fingered hand under his chin. “Actually, I refuse to believe my smile is the best thing about me. I have many other admirable qualities.”
“Correct. That one is a lie.”
Hawthorn pursed his lips, still smiling. “The frog thing was out of order, Jules. Wait. Whatwillyou miss the most? Did you just agree with me that I have many admirable qualities? What are they? List them all. Don’t hold back now, my delicious downfall. I may be as good as dead by tomorrow.”
Jules gritted her teeth. “I have no need to list them when you clearly know them all.”
“Mayhap,” he agreed, “but I should like to hearyoulist them.”
This is a mistake,Juliana’s head warned.The object of this game is only to take his mind off things. You don’t need to actually tell him the truth. You don’t need to tell him you’ll miss everything—
But maybe, just maybe, a little honesty was required, tonight of all nights.
“You’re a lot nicer than people think you are,” she told him. “A lot nicer thanIthought you were. You don’t like people to know it, and I understand why, because kindness is a weakness to be exploited in this world we live in, but you… you care about other people.”
